


Star-Eyes

by hauntedpoem



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Animorphism, Gen, Mairon as a wolf, Mirkwood, Sauron's soul survives, post-LOTR, raft-elves, wolf packs, wolf pup development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: He’s always disliked the name Sauron or Gorthaur. He went by many names and all these ages, he still thought of himself as Mairon. And now he was known as Cub.Or Pup





	Star-Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this fic and researching wolf development for it. It's actually something that I wrote because I find myself fascinated with wolves and it has a bit of an unfinished feel to it :p. Lately, I have been flooded by imagery related to wolves, such as dreams. I also found myself reading about them for no reason. One of my favorite books on the symbolism is ["Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gY1NOFwi98k) by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.  
> Also, the wolf is my totem. The [wolf](http://www.spiritanimal.info/wolf-spirit-animal/) is a reminder to keep your spirit alive and trust your instincts to find the way that will best suit you. Also, a totem should not be confounded with a spirit guide. Surprisingly, my spirit guide is the crow. :P  
> I also find Tolkien inspired art so, so fascinating and one of the inspirations for this fic was [this piece](http://kimberly80.deviantart.com/art/After-the-hunt-628246439) by kimberly80 on DeviantArt.  
> -  
> I would say that this fic is again, another exercise of imagination, and is part of my decision to write every day so that I can stare in the face any creative block I may encounter.  
> To me, Tolkien's work is all about the endless battle between good and evil but sometimes there are shades of gray, which makes it more complex and such a joy to explore.

 

It wasn’t easy to obliterate one of the Ainur. It takes more than the destruction of the ring to accomplish such feat. He existed before in other manifestations but without the power that he poured in a single object, it proved to be painful and depleting to maintain a physical form. It was costly. The needs of the flesh were oftentimes foreign to him and if he insisted on them, he would pay the price. But this wasn’t the case. When the ring was thrown into the very fire that forged it, he felt, surprisingly, an immense relief. His soul had been disconnected for too long from a body and now it became just a searching wisp among rubble and still collapsing walls. He was air and then more than that. He was a fragment of soul blown by the wind. He had no will. He had nothing. Even his memories were unclear.

 

He’s never thought he would feel this way but Mairon knows fear. He has lived it a long time ago. Until the ring’s destruction, it was a dragged out diluted pain, nothing substantial… But now, he felt truly hollow. He was part of it, the air and when the wind increased its force, Mairon thought he would disperse. In fact, he did and it was as if he could see many places at once. Fumes rising towards the sky, piles of dead orcs, elves and men fighting together. He could see a dwarf as well. He felt nothing, just the push and pull of the wind as he observed life without him.

It’s their incessant howling that frightens him. These are wolves, not werewolves, though. They are not his but Yavanna’s. He gets carried right in their midst and he can almost smell the animals. Fur, blood, cold, moss, pheromones. A female in heat. He is pulled into the wolf’s body by the wind. He stays there until he wakes again. It is warm and red and he sees snouts and paws and avid little mouths. Soon, he comes to realize he’s in her womb and she’s ready to give birth.

The first thought that enters his wolf’s brain is this: it hurts. He cannot will the eyes to open and her snout pushes at his body. Mairon forces himself to remember the animal anatomy he’s learned a long time ago through experiments but thinking fails him. Instead, he is a great mind with greater experience trapped in a newborn wolf’s body, blind and cold. And terrified. His body shivers and he cannot do much but crawl, wet and hairy and blind. A pup’s senses are not yet developed and he cannot do much but whine and yelp until he is pushed towards a teat on which he latches on hungrily.

The milk is warm and he drinks, pushing his brother and sister away. He wants to live and wants to see. He knows the mechanics of the body; he knows that he needs to drink milk, to listen to his mother’s call, her gentle growls, her heartbeat.  He hears her growl and whines in defeat. He has never had a mother but now that he has one, he wants her to accept him in exchange for his adoration. She is his goddess.

A couple of weeks later, his eyes open and all he sees are blurs. The mother-wolf brings them little bits of meat and with newly erupted teeth, he munches these. He can smell her now. He can smell his brothers but feels little attachment to them compared to her. They now walk around the den, and his sister curiously follows him around. Their brother sleeps in a dark corner. Something ails him, Mairon knows in his wolf’s brain but there is nothing he can or would want to do. Their mother knows as well and although she chooses not to ignore him, she leaves to hunt most of the time.

Outside the den, the world is a fascinating place. A blade of grass and a twisted root are as interesting as the colors of his sister's gray pelt.  Their vocalization changed to shy growls and wants to dominate. His sister is as heavy as he is and she bites him playfully on the ear. She tugs, he yelps and then retaliates. The game begins.

After a month and several weeks, he turned into a wild and curious pup. He doesn’t pay much attention to the onslaught of thoughts that transform into voices and images when he closes his eyes. He is too entranced by a blade of emerald grass or the smell of the myriads of mushrooms that grow at the base of the trees. Whenever he ventures too far, their mother will bring him back and push him with her snout. “Don’t do this again, Star-Eyes” she chides and Mairon smirks inside and growls at her, trying to assert his dominance, even when he knows it is absurd, she is the wolf goddess, he is a pup. He settles for whining for her attention and she licks his face and brings him bits of the rabbit.

After a couple more months, they emerge from the den and meet the family. Mairon doesn’t like them for they demand respect and sniveling. It’s a good thing his Mother is there to protect him from the hierarchy. At night, after they’ve helped into the hunt and tore long shreds of meat from the bones of the deer, they lay satisfied around the entrance of their den.

He hears strange noises from far away. Ants marching underground in their tunnels, moles digging. A snake could be heard hissing and his mother started growling. It strikes. Once, twice. Mairon’s ears are erect; his canines white and ready to defend himself. His Mother growls in wounded tones. She doesn’t stir for a while. His sister whines and yelps in tragedy. His brother has little energy and chooses to haunt the air with his gray little nose. The viper lies thwarted at their mother’s feet as she licks her haunch where the snake has bitten her.

Venom is yellow, dripping down her white coat. A shiver of panic makes Mairon’s fur raise. She cannot die now.

At night, his sister yelps and howls. His own high-pitched howls are gaining strength. They fight over a slender bone, a tug of war. Their brother doesn’t stir but whines.

Where is she? Their wolf-god?

It was darkening and Mairon’s ears caught foreign sounds. Howling in the night, at the pale, glow of the moon. The moon is fat and round like a hog’s belly. Mairon wants to eat. He pushes with his nose at the mushrooms growing outside the den and digs deep for the mole’s lair. To no avail, the mole has made sure he wouldn’t reach it. He wished for anything, even a mouse to come his way. Whatever made him Mairon Aulendil in his previous life paled when faced with the demands of a weakening body and the vulnerability to the elements and the unconquerable fear of death.

What if he survived, as a spirit without a husk, forever blown by the wind? The thought alone made him shake with terror. He wanted to live, at any cost. He would have done anything not to feel that nothingness, that complete lack of control ever again. His sister, white tooth, follows him around, wanting to play. Their brother, Grey-Paw, still whimpers and shivers with the cold but now, Mairon notices, he’s gnawing uselessly at the dry bone that they abandoned in their play and tug of war. Grey-Paw was a sly one, he thought.

Mairon smelled rain into the air and yawned trying to make himself sleepy instead of agitated with worry. His sister already joined their brother in the back of the den in an attempt to warm her body up. Reluctantly, he joined them. She watched him with eyes that reflected the moonlight. They called him Star-Eyes and Mairon suspected why. His eyes, unlike those of many the wolf pups, were not the deep, crunchy blue of the young. Instead, his were yellow and burned like fire. He made a disgruntled noise and sat his tired head on his paws.

Mother-God was gone.

In the morning, he woke up to his brothers chasing flies and insects in the air. Out of the den, a paradise sprawled before his eyes. He could see, as any weaned pup could, that life was everywhere; It was a matter of skill to catch his first prey. His brothers deluded themselves with dragonflies and lazy flies. They were less than a snack, less than a bite.

Mairon, now as Star-Eyes prowled and haunted for a grouse, a mouse, a lizard, anything that would at least have blood in its body and offer more than a few bites and a prolonged chew. He scanned the hill that covered their den and braved the sunshine and the open air. Grey-Paw looked at him longingly.  He gave a whimpering squeak and left their sister alone and confused as he trailed after Star-Eyes.

Emboldened by their presence, stealthy yet curious, Mairon took pride in his developing wolf body. He had strong muscles and agile eyes, fine hearing and a perfect sense of smell; he had good balance and a nice, thick fur that would soon become less gray and murky like charcoal and give way to creamy white, just like his Mother-God. They followed him submissively and as a wolfling, he was proud for having gained their respect. White-Tooth was aggressive and strong, yet she had no patience for follow-through and Grey-Paw was weak and had a tendency to follow the leader because it suited his animal needs.

It was lizards that they found, and they were many, bathing in the sun that even the slow-witted Grey-Paw caught and wolfed one down. He gave a sharp, triumphant howl and he and his sister began to play again, their bellies not as demanding as before. His Mother-God scent lingered in the air. He followed it by design. He walked and leaped and ducked under the dangerously latching bramble vines, he passed small yellow flowers that drew insects to their pollen and he passed blue ones. He marveled at a toad-stool and its wormy occupants, busy with digging trenches in the soft flesh of the fungus. His ears barely paid attention to his brothers in the distance. His mother was close, her smell entwined with that of decay. A huge carcass of white fur lay in the shade among white flowers.

Mother-God was dead.

Though Mairon knew it would be a possibility, somehow, the reasoning did not reach the limited wolf-brain and he instinctively drew closer and began a youngling’s dismayed cry. This was mourning. Mourning for her warm belly and rich mik, her maternal growls and her protection. Mourning for the meat she so generously gave him and for her rough- gentle teachings.

Mother-God left them alone, still new to their life as wolves. The family would not accept them without her introduction and they couldn’t hunt by themselves. He was glad he still had his brother and sister, useless though they were. His ears prick with the sound. From the tall grass, emerges Grey-Paw, mouth red as if with blood but he can smell berries. Berries are not good for a wolf but there is no way to show his brother the right path, now. Where is White-Tooth, he silently asks and his brother gives him a defeated whimper. The tall grass parts, the boughs moved away and a tall, foreign creature emerges, walking only on two feet and Grey-Paw runs straight into his side, sniffling and whining pathetically as if the creature that walks on two feet is their savior.

Mairon, now as Star-Eyes bars his teeth. Elf, his brain supplies but his rage and fear are easily overridden by instinct. The elf is tall, has weapons, is dangerous. The elf holds their sister in his arms like she’s his cub now. Grey-Paw bounds happily and turns to lick the intruder’s hand. The intruder smiles and coos and whispers. His voice is laced with power, a command issued from the trees and the sky above, an order as inevitable as the rain on a plain.

He shuts his wolf eyes and remembers, his wolf-brain bursting with images of elves, many like this one, marching and attacking and declaring death. The air changes and another creature jumps straight from a high pine branch. Light-footed, this one picks both wolves by the skin of their necks. Mairon turns and tries to bite but to no avail.

The strangers laugh, probably satisfied by the torment they’re causing.  Mairon just growls. He cannot understand why White-Tooth, the traitor licks now the stranger’s cheek instead of biting it.

“Hark, hark,” the one that holds him says to the other, amusedly. Knowing this, Mairon ceases his wolf growls. Wait until he grows a little and he’ll go straight for their necks.

They take him captive and he’s the only one who still fights the forest song of obedience that the elves sing. His brother and sister are carried by warm and lazy arms while he is the only one whose snout is bound with leather and chided on the tip of his nose. He hates being touched there and grimaces in displeasure.

“Poor, poor orphan,” a young elf woman says as she takes Grey-Paw in her arms to coddle him. He is such a weak beast and in that moment Mairon, known as Star-Eyes refuses to name him brother. She tries to take a better look at him but turns around to show her his disrespect.  “Bitch!” he growls.

“I don’t like him,” she says to the others. The young one that still holds White-Tooth lets her down and ruffles her fur and giddily, she wraps her paws on his leather boots. She plays as if nothing happened.

“He’s not amiable like this one,” the elf says and scratches behind her ear. White-Tooth seems to laugh, with all her being embracing this joyful treatment. “Or docile, like the other.”

“Put him in the box,” the elf woman says and shortly after, his maw is unbound and he’s thrown into a dark cell with only a bowl of water. “Sad beast,” she replies and takes Grey-Paw to her bosom and instead of ripping her neck, he sniffles and licks her submissively like he did with their mother.

"This one wants milk, the poor orphan.”

They don’t treat him badly, Mairon has to admit but the lack of freedom grates on his nerves. His brothers roam freely in the diffuse light of the cavern and sometimes they howl in greeting but he never answers. Alone, he feels more disconnected from his wolf-self than ever before. Maybe he’ll grow to embrace such sadness or let his spirit fade at night and back into the cruel arms of the wind. It’s a brown haired one that comes to visit him. He brought chopped bones with scraggly fresh meat and a bowl of milk. He looks at him with fearful eyes and Mairon ponders his options. If he lashes out, they’ll put him down or leave him in this cell to perish. If he submits and doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him, he’ll have his freedom. His wolf-brain comprehends at least that and chooses to live. He’s too afraid to become yet again a soul in the wind, dispersed and abused by its pushing and pulling.  But he doesn’t whine, either. He keeps his distance until the elf opens the cell door and enters his space carefully.  He watches intently his every gesture, how he places the bowl on the ground, how the places a metal tray next and puts the bones and the meat there, how he watches for any sign of dirt in the cell. The mere thought of having his own excrement near his nose is repulsive to Mairon and in that moment he forgets about his wounded pride. He whines as if in pain and crawls on his front paws until the elf, startled and confused can almost touch his head. And to Mairon’s relief, he does and then some more, his whole body relaxing in relief and hugs his beastly body to his chest.Ever since his wolf mother died, he's been having strange dreams of his past, visions in colour and filled with sound. He does grow lonely. 

“You were just frightened, you’re not so bad,” the elf says. It is what he is now. A cute ball of creamy fur and jocular eyes. A tame mouth with baby teeth- still and large paws. Awkward and adorable. His coloring the prettiest, his growls and whines and yelps and barks more melodious than those of his sister. He competes for his affection because he knows that if this one is smitten with him, then so would the rest.

The raft-elves strut around with their domesticated wolves. Some impressionable elves coo when they see his siblings. Grey-Paw is now coddled by a lady’s feet and he pushes with his snout for treats- he has large paws for his body, a defect of the joints that in the wild would have cost him but here, he is everybody’s comic relief. A lazy creature, Mairon thinks in his wolf mind.  White-Tooth smells of fish from the barrels and her countenance, in general, is disheveled and smelly. She’s curious and sharp. Sometimes he catches her watching him with ochre eyes. She’s matured much faster than her brother and now’s howling for a mate. . He growls whenever she threatens to rub herself on him.  He bristles when others approach and only keeps close to his elf. His. In fact, Mairon doesn’t like it when he’s taken away from him.

He’s grown big. He’s larger than the usual wolf and more intelligent. He understands everything his elf says and sometimes growls or yawns, in disaccord or agreement. Sometimes he latches his arms around his neck and breathes into his fur. Mairon is proud of it. He doesn’t roll in his own urine like White-Tooth and isn’t incontinent like poor, poor Grey-Paw.

He roams the woods with his elf or watches him from afar. What makes him tick, what makes him an elf. He licks his face and hand and bites it gently, not to scare him away. He wanted to name him but Mairon corrected this elf’s imagination. Star-Eyes, like his Mother-God, once called him. Despite that once, as Sauron, he was known to hate all elves, now that he’s in wolf form, he has fonder memories. They could have killed him while still a pup or worse, kept him in chains and his own dirt in a dark cell underground.

He enjoyed freedom and hunting. He enjoyed caresses and grooming. He trailed after his elf everywhere. That is, until the elf showed him to their king. “Creature!” He said and pointed at Mairon’s wolf form. His desire to show his teeth in defiance was great but a speck of reason crawled into his mind and whispered: “Calm down.”

His golden eyes are drawn to the ice-cold king but other than a suppressed yawn, Mairon doesn’t react. He thinks he’s seen this elf before and a feeling like dread and hatred washes over his body. It’s a natural reaction to want to duck as the elf’s hand looms over his head. It prickles; it’s the worst sensation of them all, especially when the man takes him by the snout without any fear and watches him as if he’s goods to be purchased.

“A good fur on this one, white, like snow,” he says and Mairon, now fully aware of his attributes as the creature known as Star-Eyes, has the strangest desire of sinking his teeth into that pale, time-defying skin. The king’s eyes are calculating, though. “It’s a pity that the beast has such an ugly character,” and pushes his snout away with a dismissive hand.

He is pulled by the rope around his neck and the elf that cares for him, his elf, gives him a reassuring smile. “You’ll stay with me, then,” he whispers, knowing Star-Eyes’ ears will catch it. This is good, and it resonates in his demeanor. Sometime, that night, Mairon wakes from a very appealing dream. He can almost taste it on the tip of his tongue, the desire, mouth watering. His nostrils fill with the smell of elf flesh and his body shudders at the prospect.

 

 

fin

~*~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Show your appreciation if you deem so. I love feedback, so leave a comment to let me know your opinion!  
> <3


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